A Father's Right
by Dendera
Summary: Set late in season five. With Father's Day approaching, Xander finds himself angsting more than usual.


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Title: A Father's Right

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Rating: PG (a bad word and disturbing imagery)

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Summary: Set in season five, Father's Day approaches and Xander finds himself angsting more than usual.

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Disclaimer: I don't own the Buffy universe, sadly. Mr. Whedon and ME do. I only own my words. 

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Distribution: Want, take, have. Just ask me first.

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Author's Note: Takes place towards the end of fifth season, an in-betweener for the last few episodes. For my own convenience, I've moved the events that took place in "The Gift" closer to the beginning/middle of June. Btw, I didn't get this one beta read, so please excuse any mistakes.

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Dedication: Happy birthday to my best friend, Dr. Tamwe here at FF.net. I know it's not SW, but Xander angst is very nearly the next best thing ;)

*~*~*

"Look at you!" Xander hailed his friend in an awed tone, "Domestic Goddess and Mistress of the Household; way to be, Buff."

The petite blonde favored him with a smile. "That's me, responsible Buffy. I'm a grocery shopping fool." She beamed proudly as she unpacked her supermarket booty, easing a heavy sack into her sister's awaiting arms.

"Don't encourage her," the teenager advised with an exaggerated roll of her eyes as she staggered off into the house.

"And, and look!" Buffy bubbled cheerfully, "I even went through the Sunday newspaper and clipped those coupon thingys!" The slayer, quite possibly mankind's most powerful force for good, was nearly beside herself over cereal savings. 

"Resourceful _and_ thrifty," Xander mused admiringly. He hooked an affectionate arm around her shoulders. "I'm proud of you, Buff. _Really_. You've had a lot weighing you down these past few months, what with all of the skanky gods and all, but you've really pulled through."

Buffy's giddiness faded into a wistful smile. "Thanks, Xand," she acknowledged, squeezing his hand. "But I couldn't have done it without you guys. You're my lifeline, I mean it."

"Which one, the 'ask the audience' or 'phone a friend'?" Xander quipped, wagging his dark brows playfully.

She grinned at the lame joke, delighting in the fact that some things never changed. "Both."

"Is that your _final_ answer?" He queried, utilizing his best Regis impression, which, as it turned out, wasn't very good at all.

Buffy elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "Hey big, strapping male. Why don't you make yourself useful and help me with these last bags? Then I'll make you and Dawn some lunch."

Xander bounded eagerly forward, like most members of his gender, intrigued by the bribe of free food. "Vampire slayer, Hellmouth bouncer, and kitchen conquistador. Let's give her a hand, folks."

"Don't get too excited," she chuckled, as he followed her through the front door. "I'm starting out slow, mastering the joys of microwaving."

They unloaded their bags onto the kitchen counter, Dawn immediately digging through the contents. "So what frozen culinary delight will you be thawing for us today?" He drawled, as he helped her unpack.

"Ew, Buffy!" Dawn huffed in disgust, waving a jar at her sister. "I hate strawberry jelly! I thought you knew that!"

Buffy made a face at her. "You were there when I picked it out, you should have said something." She returned her attention to Xander, ignoring the muttering reply of the younger girl. "I was thinking more along the lines of finger foods. Up for some peanut butter and jelly?"

He flashed a boyish grin. "Only if you promise to cut them into little triangles."

She returned his goofiness with relish, "You know I'm a sucker for triangle shaped foods. You want a sandwich Dawn?"

"With strawberry jelly?" Dawn snorted at the very idea. "_No way_. I'll have turkey." She rummaged through another sack with interest. "Cheesecake mix…sparkling cider…steaks," the brunette eyed her sister with curiosity, " and _candles_?"

Xander gave her a knowing look. "Planning a romantic evening with someone I should know about?"

Buffy laughed, a brief, bitter sound. "Not quite. I'm no romo girl these days, remember?" Her features softened a bit, the hard lines disappearing. "That's all for…Giles. You see, um, Father's Day is coming up next month, and well, he's done so much for Dawn and I…" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. "I thought maybe after this whole Glory thing blows over, we'd fix him a nice dinner as a thank you or something. Do you think maybe he'd like that?"

She had stammered her way through the explanation, but Xander could read the depth of the sentiment behind it. Like himself, Buffy wasn't close with her real father. There were a few choice phrases Xander preferred to use when referring to Hank Summers, but none of it really mattered. Buffy had Giles, and though the two often danced around the words, he knew how much they cared for each other. Giles was the father Buffy deserved, and the kind of guy Xander (though he often claimed otherwise) truly admired. 

He touched her arm, a reassuring gesture. "I think that's a great idea. We _all_ know how much the G-man needs to get out these days."

"Yeah, but make him leave his books at home!" Dawn begged in agreement.

*~*~*

"Buffy's making Giles a Father's Day dinner?" Willow's eyes were alight with pleasure, "That's so sweet! Poor Giles, he never has anyone…"

Xander shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, life's fair that way. The good guys get jacked while the jerks make off with everything. Giles is just another name on the list of the screwed."

The redhead winced at his acidic words, fixing him with an anxious look. "This isn't about Giles, is it?"

"Sorry. It's…I just…" He paused, sucking in a long breath and releasing it in frustration. "I know I'm 'bitter: party of one,' but I really hate _this_."

"This being…?" she prompted gently.

He couldn't bring himself to meet her eye, ashamed at his petulance. "Why does he get a day all for himself? He doesn't deserve it. He's _not_ a father. He's a lot of things, but not _that_."

"Oh," his best friend remarked softly, eyes downcast as she pondered her reply. "You know, you don't have to get him anything. He's your Dad, Xander, but he's not who you are. You'll never be anything like him --"

"Oh, I don't know," he interjected with sardonic enthusiasm, falling back into his automatic defense mechanism-humor. "I think I can find something appropriate over at Hallmark. Do you think they have any 'Sometimes I'd like to forget you exist, but Happy Father's Day' cards? Or maybe the ever-popular 'Thanks for sticking it to Mom so I can be around to take up space.' You know that place, they have a card for _everything_."

Willow spared him a sympathetic glance, reaching for him. "Xander…"

"Forget it, Will." He shook his head by way of an apology. "I didn't mean to dump all of this on you. Old baggage rearing its ugly head." Attempting a half-hearted smile, he leaned over to squeeze her hand. "It's getting dark, you should get inside."

"Xander Harris," She threatened in mock warning, "if you think you're getting away without a hug…" Her small frame fit comfortably within his arms, and she embraced him with surprising fierceness. 

"Be careful," she advised, releasing him. "Tara and I will meet you at Buffy's."

"Another night of research dedicated to our favorite hell god," he intoned with sarcasm. "Just what I need to put things into perspective."

Willow grinned, waving as she disappeared into her dorm building. "That's the spirit; I'll bring the donuts!"

*~*~*

Xander fought back an all too familiar wave of loathing as he prepared himself for what lay behind his front door. He hated visiting home and avoided it whenever possible, which mercifully, was often. Still, he wasn't sure what had brought him back tonight. It was true that some of his junk still cluttered his parents' basement, but nothing important. Certainly nothing he couldn't do without out. Things were steadily falling apart as Glory drew closer to discovering the truth behind Dawn's origin. Giles felt certain it might be any day now, and Tara's capture had confirmed his suspicions. They were running out of time, and Xander had felt the inexplicable need to say goodbye, though he wasn't sure why.

As he approached, he debated on whether he should knock, but in the end, merely chose to enter. The room, as usual, was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight to protect the hung-over induced sensitivity of his father's eyes. Xander felt his muscles tighten with building animosity. 

A crash emitting from the general direction of the kitchen, followed by a string of curses, alerted him to the presence of his father. "Hair appointment?" The elder Harris bellowed, slurring his words appropriately. Apparently his mother had left a note. "What the hell does that mean?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "It means she has a hair appointment, Dad. Simple as that." He regretted them instantly. 

There was a clatter of tin cans against linoleum, and Marvin Harris appeared, surly and drunk. "Did I ask you, Alexander?" He demanded with a glower, "You can't keep that smart-ass mouth of yours shut for a minute, can you?"

Xander glared back, refusing to merely submit and cower. "No sir," he feigned a mocking respect through gritted teeth. "I guess I can't."

His father moved as if to round on him, but stopped mid-step. "Where've you been? Still living with that little slut of yours?"

He felt his jaw clench, white-hot anger coursing through him at the other's lewd reference. For what felt like the thousandth time in his lifetime, Xander wished he could somehow break the blood ties that bonded him to this monster. 

"Her name is Anya, and don't call her that." It took all of his strength, both physical and will power, to force himself to walk away. He wouldn't waste any more time here; it had been a mistake to come in the first place.

"I'm not through with you yet, Alexander! You can't just waltz into my house and insult me! What do you want?"

"Nothing," he muttered, striding towards the door. "Forget about it."

"I'm _trying_ to," Harris senior retorted with an ugly leer. "You grew up having everything handed to you and this is the thanks I get. What a disappointment." The rough hand seized his shoulder, whipping him around. 

"Twenty years of living under my roof-"

Xander shook off his arm, eyes glinting dangerously. "That's just it, Dad. I _don't_ live under your roof anymore." They exchanged a dark look. "You're drunk-again-so do us all a favor and sleep it off."

The sharp jab to his face caught him by surprise, though the searing temper behind it didn't. He ought to have known better. It wasn't exactly the first time his father had opted for fists instead of words.

Wild, dark eyes bore fiercely into his. "By God, no son of mine's going to talk to me like _that_."

Wordlessly, Xander turned and retreated from the room, an act of masculinity, not cowardice. He threw a steely gaze over his shoulder, his voice even, emotionless. "Then I guess I'm _not_ your son."

*~*~*

"G-good Lord!" Giles remarked as he answered the Summers' door, "What's happened, Xander?"

The boy mumbled a muddled reply in response to the inquiry, and stepped past him into the front hall. Giles closed the door behind him, and turned to examine the deep violet bruise that was quickly blossoming across his cheek. 

Xander refused to meet his eye, his gaze instead darting about the empty living room. "Where is everyone?" 

"Willow has Tara resting upstairs," the Watcher replied, an undertone of weariness slipping into his voice. "Dawn is in her room; she's, ah, quite shaken up about all of this, naturally. Buffy's just gone to do a quick patrol, to secure the neighborhood perimeters." He eyed the younger man, his hazel orbs full of concern, wanting to ask, but doubting his place to do so. "Is, is Anya with you?"

"She's on her way." Off Giles' questioning glance, he continued sheepishly. "I just…I just had to drop by home first. I didn't want her with me."

The Englishman's gaze had hardened. "I see."

Xander felt the urge to slip in a bantering segue way. They seemed to flow seamlessly from his lips. "Well, she may be an ex-demon, but I don't want to scare her off too soon. Because once she sees the old man's back hair, she's as good as _gone_."

"Did he do this to you?" Giles asked, features taut with silent fury. His eloquent accent was controlled, but hinted at something dangerous beneath the surface. 

"Yeah," Xander felt suddenly uncomfortable under the Watcher's scrutiny, unable and equally unwilling, to be the object of another's sympathy. "It's no big deal. He didn't like what I had to say. A father's right and all…" _You're babbling-just shut-up! Make a joke and suck it up!_

"No Xander, he has _no_ right." Giles corrected him, the sharp edge to his voice giving way to one of protectiveness. "No one has that right."

__

Just keep talking…keep going. If you stop he'll see it-he'll know you're weak. "Well, I don't like anything about _him_, so I guess we're pretty much even." He forced a laugh, "I figure in a few years I can take him on the Springer show and hit him with a chair the way normal families do it…"

The Englishman placed a strong, steady hand on his shoulder, silencing him. "Xander…"

"Don't," Xander warned him, the panic settling in as he felt himself rapidly loosing his grip. "Don't G-man," he repeated hoarsely, the tears stinging at his eyes. "I can't now…can't be weak…"  


He didn't have the opportunity to finish his plea. All of the lectures, the beatings, and the rants, the "be a man, Xander" and "don't you dare cry, soldiers don't cry," and all of the other lies seemed to dissipate as the older man drew him into his arms. He felt himself heaving stifled sobs against the Watcher's shoulder; tears, shame and anguish long stored up over the years.

Giles held him tightly, unsure of what his young friend needed, but willing to give it to him at any cost. "You're not weak, Xander," he ventured after a few moments. "You are the cornerstone of this group, an anchor for your friends, and that takes an inordinate amount of strength most people will never possess. Anyone who has ever implied otherwise is a fool, and a liar."

Self-conscious once more, Xander shyly withdrew, and swiped at his eyes. "I'm just going to, ah," he gestured towards the bathroom, and Giles gave a quick nod of understanding. "Listen, Giles," he hesitated before meeting the other's gaze. "I don't usually…I've never told anyone but Willow…"

"I-I understand," Giles felt himself reaching for his glasses, eager for a task to keep his hands busy. "I won't tell a soul. If Buffy asks, Dawn was, ah, unusually aggressive in her affections towards you tonight…"

"Right," Xander quipped with a smirk, "I'm liking the whole 'ladies man' scenario." He paused again before leaving the room, "And Giles?"

"Yes?" He glanced up from cleaning his glasses.

"Thanks for all of the stuff you said. It, uh, it means a lot."

"Y-you're quite welcome." _Say it you old fool; you've missed out on too many chances over the years. _"I sh-should consider myself…most fortunate to have children such as you lot."

That side of him, the vulnerable, broken little boy was fading, but the sincere gratitude remained. "We _are_ your children, G-man," Xander reminded him, genuinely meaning it, before disappearing around the corner.

Giles felt the warmth building within him, despite their dire circumstances and the terrors that would undoubtedly follow. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, a brief haven from the storm blowing around them.

"Don't call me that."

*~*~*

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